


Prompt Fill: Aleppo

by koalathebear



Series: What If? [9]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Speculative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I received this fic prompt: "Request: an injured Quinn calls Carrie from Syria/Iraq/wherever his team escaped to", so it's become: "What if an injured Quinn called Carrie from Syria?"</p><p>It's not really shippy sorry.  Set post-4.12 when Quinn's on his black ops mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt Fill: Aleppo

**Author's Note:**

> No idea of the composition of Quinn's team so I've continued to use the names I made up for my [Seasonal Fics](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2849918) series.

"Well our job here is done," Rob drawled as they started the drive out of Aleppo and towards Iraq under cover of darkness. 

"More than done," Quinn said briefly, looking at the smoke rising up into the sky. He winced, trying to ignore the pain in his upper bicep and thigh.

Located at the crossroads of several trade routes since the 2nd millennium B.C., Aleppo had been ruled successively by the Hittites, Assyrians, Akkadians, Greeks, Romans, Umayyads, Ayyubids, Mameluks and Ottomans who left their stamp on the city. Now, it had been brought to its knees by civil war.

Over the last few days, Quinn and his team had completed their mission and also been the eyes on the ground in relation to air strikes launched by the regime. 

"You told me we were just here to take out three IS targets, asshole."

"Mission scope creep, shit happens, Quinn."

"No shit," Quinn muttered briefly.

"Now shut up – you've done enough," Rob ordered him and Quinn grimaced. Rob was still pissed at him for getting himself injured.

While they had been in Aleppo, the regime had launched air strikes, killing at least 52 civilians, including seven children. 

It was nothing new. Thousands of people had been killed by the regime air force since it was first deployed in July 2012. The bombardment was relentless with the US-led military coalition carrying out regular air strikes against the Islamic State group. Everyone was killing everyone else but the strikes were so indiscriminate and devastating that the losers were always the poor bastards on the ground … more than 200,000 people in the conflict and the displacement of half of its population. The misery in the ancient country was overwhelming.

The previous night, after taking out their designated targets, the team had been making their way through the rubble of the lanes of Old Aleppo towards the safe house, the plan being to lay low for a day before exfil. A transport had been scheduled to collect them the following night and take them to Iraq.

While still some distance from the safe house, Quinn and his team had heard the thump of the rotor blades, the boom of the explosion from the barrel bomb released by the Syrian government troops far above and the screams of people in pain as death came from the skies. Barrel bombs, the Syrian war’s most savage weapon, were also its most indiscriminate killer.

Sometimes described as a "flying IED" they were typically made from a barrel that had been filled with high explosives – usually possibly shrapnel, oil or chemicals. The barrel was then dropped from a helicopter or aeroplane. Due to the large amount of explosives that could be packed into a barrel, their poor accuracy and indiscriminate use in populated civilian areas, the results of the bombs was horrific.

Quinn winced. The sound of the crying was becoming unbearable to him and ignoring the shouts from Rob to get the fuck out of there, Quinn had run in the direction of the closest cries. 

Staring around, eyes blinking through the acrid smoke he had been confronted with the sight of unfathomable carnage … bodies ripped apart, bloody remains splattered across the rubble. It was like a slaughterhouse.

*

Old generators that provided neighbourhood power echoed through alleyways. A slight wind blew broken doors and shutters against stone walls. It was like a ghost town that was still filled with the living – living who were moaning in pain.

Crouching on the ground in the rubble, Quinn pulled his medical kit from his bag. A woman in her thirties was lying on the ground, a horrific gash in her thigh caused by a shell, not a barrel bomb and Quinn's steady hands quickly bandaged the wound. "Hold this firm," he told her as he looked around, looking for other survivors.

Shells dropped randomly on Old Aleppo many times each day. Just earlier in the week while conducting surveillance at the marketplace, a deafening blast had erupted near a fruit stall. The vendor hadn't even flinched. Nor did his customer.

"The fuck Quinn, I gave you an order. Get your ass over to the safe-house, now," Rob hissed, jogging after him in the darkness.

"I can't," he told his team leader as he crouched on the ground beside a young boy who was whimpering in pain, half of his leg blown away.

"Am I going to die?" he asked Quinn, his eyes clouded with pain and confusion.

"Not if I can help it," Quinn replied tersely in Arabic, applying a pressure bandage to the wound that was spurting blood.

"Fuck," Rob muttered and dropped to his knees to pull a young woman from the rubble. Nolan and the others rolled their eyes and pitched in to help. "You're going to get us all killed, Quinn," Rob told him darkly even as he handed a small child to Liam to treat.

"I can't feel anything," the boy told Quinn fearfully. 

"I've given you something for the pain. Is your family here?" He asked gently. The boy shook his head. "No. My mother, father and brothers were all killed last month...”

"Another bomb?"

The boy shook his head. "They were executed by Isis last month - betrayed at a checkpoint..."

"It's a common story," a woman's voice said unexpectedly and Quinn looked up to see a calm-looking woman in her forties, a gun strapped to her back and a medical kit in her hands staring down at him from a pile of rubble. "My mother died in her home. I buried her in five pieces. She said she would rather die here than live on her knees in Turkey," the woman told him. She wore a black head-scarf and she had a livid scar near her mouth that looked like a bullet wound. 

It was his first encounter with any of the female volunteers. He was aware of a group called the White Helmets who were trained in medical care and light search and rescue work. This group had women amongst them who travelled to the scenes of barrel bomb and missile strikes and dug for survivors using tools and their bare hands. These women would risk their lives to help the injured, fully aware that rescue sites were often targeted with a second round of bombing.

This woman appeared to be working alone. "There is a hospital near here, if you can help me bring them there – then they have a chance at life."

He could hear Rob swearing but he nodded. "Yes, I can do that," he told her. "This woman has suffered chemical burns and will need to be stripped before she's treated – I am sure she would prefer a female to help her," he told the medic briefly.

She nodded and the two of them helped to lift and carry the woman. Quinn and the others carried the remainder of the survivors to the door of the hospital. As he was carrying the last patient, the ground shook from the force of another bomb some distance away and Quinn swore as his arm and leg were slashed by flying shrapnel.

"Sonofabitch!" Nolan swore as he, too was struck.

"Everyone else ok?" Rob demanded. The others confirmed that they were uninjured. "Well thank Christ for that. Can we get the fuck out of here now or would you like to bleed to death in Aleppo?" Rob demanded.

"Wait!" the female medic called out and she bandaged Nolan's shoulder and also Quinn's arm and leg.

"Thank you," Quinn told her. "Stay safe," he told her gently.

"Can you move, or do you want me to carry you, asshole?" Rob demanded angrily and Quinn nodded and fell in with the others as they made their way back to the safe house.

*

"Wake up," Rob said, kicking Quinn awake with his foot and he shuddered awake, staring around him in momentary confusion, taking a few seconds to realise that he was in the farmhouse.

"You need to drink some water," Rob ordered and put a canteen in his hand.

Quinn took a deep swallow and then winced as he stared down at his arm. The wound on his leg was painful but doing all right. The wound on his arm, however was showing signs of infection so with teeth gritted, he reached into his medical kit for the syringe containing antibiotics.

"Serves you right," Rob told him pissily. "Who do you think you are? Florence fucking nightingale? John Wayne?"

"Leave him alone, Rob," Liam snapped unexpected. "We did some good last night. Felt good."

Rob rolled his eyes, swore and then walked into the doorway of the safe-house to stare out at the deserted yard to take an unexpected call.

*

Carrie picked up the phone absently, cradling it against her ear as she stared out the window.

"Carrie." She would have recognised that slow husky voice anywhere. No one else ever said her name with that slow, drawling gentleness. It was almost a caress.

 _"Quinn???"_ she demanded incredulously.

"Rumour has it that you came looking for me," he said dryly. "I'm flattered."

"Because you left without saying goodbye and disconnected your fucking phone! Are you out of your mind?"

Quinn made an unintelligible sound on the other end, something between a sigh and a protest. He twitched the curtain of the farmhouse and looked out the window. Rob was standing outside making rude gestures at him to be quick and get off the phone.

"It's a long story … can't get into it now … but I'll tell you when I get back."

"Are you ok?" her voice was concerned.

"Mostly," he told her. 

"I heard there were more barrel bomb attacks on Aleppo last night."

"I'll see you soon, Carrie… try not do anything stupid in the meantime," he told her, changing the subject.

"Says the man calling me from Syria."

His mouth twitches slightly and he hands the phone back to Rob after he hangs up.

"We weren't supposed to make any more calls – how the hell did your girlfriend swing call privileges?"

"She can be very persuasive." He found himself wondering what sort of leverage Carrie must have over Dar Adal to have permitted contact…


End file.
